MC-NRLF 


573   051 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Received 
Accession 


Of  TH» 

UHIVBRSITT 


THE    LATEST 


AND 


LATER    POEMS 


OF 


ANNA  MORRISON  REED 


THE    HICKS-JUDD    CO.,  PUBLISHERS, 

23    FIRST    STREET,   S.    F.,   CAL. 


Copyright  1896 

BY 

ANNA   MORRISON    REED 

LAYTONVILLE,    CAT.. 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Across  the  Wire  ..........................................  16 

"  Afterwards  "  ............................................  14 

A  Golden  Dream  —  In  Memory  of  Leon    ...................  56 

Ante-Mortem  ......  ........................................  84 

As  a  Nun  Would  Tell  Her  Beads  .  .........................  68 

At  Twilight  —  Hallow-E'en  .................................  23 

Browning  ............................  .....................  43 

California  .............................  ....................  9 

Christmas,  1890  ............................................  40 

Death  of  President  Garfield  —  a  Monody  ....................  34 

Death  of  General  Grant  —  a  Monody  .......................  74 

Easter,  1895  ....................................  '  ...........  17 

Fragments  ........  .................  ......................  21,  47 

"  Gertrude  and   Theodore  "—a  Lay   of  Ye   Modern  Knight 

and  Lady  Fair  ........................................  48 

Good  Friday  .............................................  53 

Her  King  ..................  .  .............................  31 

Hurt  .......................................................  32 

"  I  Do  Begrudge  to  Time  "  ................................  78 

In  Humboldt  ..............................................  18 

"  I  Pass  Her  Grave  "  .....................................  55 

"  I  Thirst"  ............................................  61 

June  ......................................................  5° 

Last  Night  ........................................  .  ........  19 

Love's  Magic  Seal  .......................................  65 

Mother  —  a  Reverie  ......................................  38 

'  '  My  Life  Is  Devoted  to  Memories  of  You  "  ...............  62 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

My  Lover 22 

My  Treasure 13 

"  No  Babes  in  Arms" — a  Satire 69 

Ode  to  Progress — Prize  Poem 66 

Retrospect  46 

Revealed — The  Vision  of  "  Far  Cathay  " n 

Sacramento 82 

Song — In  Mexico 12 

Sunset   52 

"The  Cup  of  Gold" — Bright  Emblem  of  Our  Peerless  State  10 

The  Eclipse 63 

"  The  Gladdest  Heart  " 81 

Three  Minstrels 15 

To  a  Charming  Portrait  of  a  Gypsy  Maiden 79 

To  My  Beloved  64 

To  the  Native  Sons  of  the  Golden  West 60 

To  the  University  of  California 73 

Washington — 1789-1889 42 

Wasted 45 

Your  Life  and  Mine 20 


PART   FIRST. 


THE   LATEST  POEMS. 


ITJHI7BKSIT7 


TO 

MY  CHILDREN, 

In  whose  love  and  companionship  I  have  found  the  greatest 
happiness  that  life  has  afforded  me. 

ANNA  M.  REED. 


>>  Of 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON    REED. 


ftJHIVBRSITT 


OUEEN  of  the  Coast,  she  stands  here  emerald- 

1  crowned, 

Waiting  her  ships  that  sail  in  from  the  sea, 
Fairer  than  all  the  western  world  to  me, 
Is    this    young  Goddess  whom  the  years  have 

found. 

Ocean  and  land,  with  riches  rare  and  sweet, 
Loyally  bring  their  treasures  to  her  feet ; 
In  her  brave  arms  she  holds  with  proud  content 
The  varied  plenty  of  a  continent ; 
In  her  fair  face,  and  in  her  dreaming  eyes, 
Shines  the  bright  promise  of  her  destinies; 
Winds  kiss  her  cheek,  and  fret  the  restless  tides, 
She  in  their  truth  with  faith  divine  confides, 
Watching  the  course  of  empire's  brilliant  fate, 
She  looks  serenely  through  the  Golden  Gate. 


10  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


Cup  of 

BRIGHT  EMBLEM  or  OUR  PEERLESS  STATE. 

J\  CROSS  the  valley-land  and  hill, 

The  south  wind  blows,  and  drones  the 

bee, 

Until  his  drowsy  minstrelsy, 
In  fragrant  chalices  grows  still. 
Amidst  a  sea  with  orange  flushed, 
Like  undulating  waves  of  gold, 
A  million  yellow  buds  unfold. 
And  like  the  bee,  my  song  is  hushed. 
A  golden  noon,  a  golden  land, 
And  gathered  in  a  golden  hour, 
The  treasure  of  this  matchless  flower, 
Until  at  last  I  silent  stand, 
Soul-satisfied,  and  drinking  up 
The  incense  from  each  tawny  cup. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  11 


THE  VISION  or  "FAR  CATHAY."* 


JN  THIS  "White  City"  by  the  lake, 

Where  lilies  blow  and  fountains  play, 
And  swans  glide  through  the  crystal  spray, 
I  read  God's  answer  for  the  sake 
Of  him  who  suffered  wrong  and  pain, 
Yet  crossed  in  faith  the  trackless  main, 
Where  quest  was  stayed,  nor  sail  was  furled, 
Till  Christ  he  bore  to  this  new  world. 
O  spires  of  pearl !     O  domes  of  gold ! 
O  arch  and  column — wealth  untold, 
Of  every  treasured  gem  of  art, 
Revealed  you  hold  a  a  nation's  pride, 
The  things  for  which  Columbus  died, 
Because  they  lived  in  his  brave  heart. 


*  Columbian  Exposition,  Chicago,  1893. 


12  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


IN  MEXICO. 

yES,  parted,  we  are  parted, 
And  I  am  broken-hearted, 
The  southern  cross  shines  o'er  his  way, 
And  I  am  broken-hearted. 

He  wrote:   u  O  Love  remember! 
From  May  until  December, 
My  heart  is  constant  as  the  sun  — 
From  May  until  December." 

O  tropic  sun  !  touch  kindly 
The  face  I  love  so  blindly, 
Across  the  mesas  safely  guide, 
The  one  I  love  so  blindly. 

Asunder,  yes,  asunder, 
The  sands^his  feet  lie  under, 
The  mescal  blooms  around  his  way, 
And  we  are  far  asunder. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  13 


I  H  A  VB  found  a  gem  —  priceless  and  rare  in  the 

world  of  men; 

And  all  earth's  hoards  from  bank  and  mine, 
Where  gold  and  silver  and  diamonds  shine, 
Could  not  buy  from  me  this  thing  divine. 
For  sweeter  than  life  —  and  not  one  breath 
Can  be  bartered  away  from  the  tyrant  death  — 
Dearer  than  fame,  for  which  men  die, 
The  jewel  that  treasure  cannot  buy. 
No  vault  that  stands  in  the  busy  marts 
Can  hold  what  I  keep  in  my  "  heart  of  hearts," 
Where  no  rust  may  mar,  nor  bars  conceal, 
And  thieves  are  powerless  to  break  and  steal. 
It  shines  with  a  wonderful  changeless  light, 
Which  brightens  sorrow  and  banishes  night, 
And  while  destiny  weaves  a  fate  untold, 
It  runs  through  the  web  like  a  warp  of  gold. 

August,  1892. 


14  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


Q  PALE,  sweet  face !     Believe  me — I  know — I 
&      understand — 
Even   though  ocean-parted,  and  parted  by  the 

land, 
Longing  and  broken-hearted  for  touch  of  lip  or 

hand. 

O  voice !  to  me  the  sweetest  that  I  have  ever 
heard, 

And  dearer  than  the  music  of  wind  or  singing 
bird, 

You  need  not  break  the  silence,  e'en  by  a  writ 
ten  word. 

You  have  blest  me,  and  forever,  by  look    and 

touch  and  tone, 
And  time  can  rob  me  never,  nor  make  you  less 

my  own, 
Although  without  your  presence,  I  am  bereft — 

alone. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  15 

I  trust  you  —  ocean-parted,  and  parted  by  the  land, 
Wild  for  the  old  caresses,   of  cheek,  or  lip,  or 

hand  — 
I  love  you  —  O  I  love  you  !  I  know  and  under 

stand. 

In  memory  of  Trinidad,  September  3,  1892. 


minstrels  sing,  at  dawn  and  dark 
1       And  through  the  slumberous  golden 

noon  — 

The  dove,  the  robin,  and  the  lark, 
Here  at  the  threshold  of  the  June. 
At  dawn  the  robin's  matin  song, 
Is  first  to  wake  the  dreaming  notes, 
And  while  its  changes  still  prolong, 
The  Angelus  rings  clear  and  strong, 
From  out  a  myriad  yellow  throats. 
Then  as  the  daylight  waxes  dim, 
The  wood-dove  coos  her  vesper  hymn. 
The  robin  at  the  early  dawn, 
The  lark  at  noon  —  at  dark  the  dove,. 
Three  minstrels  —  but  the  theme  is  love. 


16  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

Across  tl?e  "$)ire. 

7\  CROSS  the  wire  rny  darling  has  called  to 

me  to-day, 
And  I  have  read  between  the  lines,  and  I  know 

what  he  would  say; 
For  through  the  formal  message,  which  tells  me 

only  half, 

There  glows  a  subtle  meaning,  and  I  bless  the 
telegraph. 

And   with    this   yellow  slip  in    hand,  which   is 

sometimes  so  dread 
When   it  brings    misfortune's   tidings,  when   it 

tells  us  of  the  dead, 
I  sit  and  dream  a  thousand  things  more  golden 

than  its  hue, 
For  I  love  him,  and  he  loves  me,  and  I  know  that 

he  is  true. 

Across  the  wire  my  darling  from  busy  mart  to 

mart 
Has  sent  the    words  that  link   us.  thought  to 

thought,  as  heart  to  heart; 
A  few  brief  hours  and  by  his  side  I'll  hear  the 

other  half, 
And  know  how  sweet  the  reason  why  I  bless  the 

telegraph. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  17 

Gaster-1895. 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  he  that  believeth 
in  Me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live." 

7]  T  DAWN  beside  Jerusalem  the  Roman  sol- 
fe  dier  paced  his  round 

About  the  sepulcher;  where  chain, 
And  high  priests  seal  securely  bound, 
That  it  might  never  rise  again, 
Dead  love — Our  Saviour  and  our  King, 
Who  came  glad  promises  to  bring 
And  save  from  death  our  fallen  race. 

A  glorious  light  dispersed  the  gloom, 
And  rent  the  rock  which  closed  the  tomb, 
His  first  best  promise  kept  to  man, 
We  wait  within  another  morn; 
Forever  safe  from  blight  or  ban 
A  perfect  day,  of  better  things, 
For  peace  and  joy  and  love  it  brings, 
And  we,  at  last,  shall  see  His  face. 


18  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

^n  J^umbolbt. 


7]  LONG  the  roads  and  sweet  by-ways 
fe        The  fireweed  and  golden-rod 
Sway  in  the  wind  and  whispering  nod, 
Through  these  long  sunny  autumn  days. 
I  know  the  wild  azaleas  blow 
Where  every  day  you  come  and  go, 
Along  the  grades  so  wild  and  steep, 
The  laden  vines  with  berries  creep, 
With  crimson  clusters  in  the  grass 
That  tempt  one  always  as  they  pass. 

Do  you  remember  one  sweet  day, 
We  came  from  Ferndale,  by  the  bluff? 
You  said  you'd  cast  the  world  away, 
If  I  would  say  love  was  enough — 
Without  reproach — without  regret — 
Ah  love !  there's  nothing  I  forget. 

I  turned  away  from  you,  and  all 
That  might  have  made  my  life  complete, 
And  yet  no  worse  thing  can  befall, 
Since  we  in  life  no  more  shall  meet. 
I  chose  for  both  the  "  better  part," 
Which  leaves  me  with  a  famished  heart. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  19 

But,  day  by  day,  in  fancy's  light, 
Through  time's  unceasing,  restless  flight, 
I  live;   and  dream. of  you  and  all 
These  precious  memories  recall — 
And  fain  would  stoop  to  kiss  the  sod 
Where  once  we  gathered  golden-rod. 

September,  1896.          


GLAMOUR  of  last  night, 
•       Its  moonlight  and  its  dreams, 
The  spell  that  bound  us  waking  seems 
To  hold  me  yet  in  long  delight. 
The  memory  of  each  word  and  look, 
Still  thrills  me  to  the  finger-tips, 
As  did  your  eyes  and  your  sweet  lips, 
That  made  my  soul  an  open  book, 
Its  treasures  bared  to  your  dear  sight. 
Since  you  have  found  its  mystery  out, 
And  tenderly  its  secrets  read, 
My  truth  you  cannot  longer  doubt; 
Nor  I  the  loving  heart  that  led, 
Your  wandering  feet  to  fondly  trace, 
The  paths  which  brought  us  face  to  face. 


20  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


your  £ife  anb 


QHARDS  and  lees  after  meat  and  wine  — 

Such  is  your  life,  my  own,  and  mine  — 
After  the  feast,  the  "  husks  and  swine." 

The  idle  word  and  the  careless  smile  ; 
The  endless  tasks  that  the  days  beguile, 
And  hearts  that  almost  break,  meanwhile. 

But  you  remember,  and  so  do  I, 

The  fond  red  lip  and  the  loving  eye  — 

These  —  and  the  thoughts  that  never  die. 

Of  the  twilight  hush  which  fell  so  soon, 
Your  darling  presence  within  the  room, 
A  brief,  sweet  hour,  and  then  the  gloom. 

How  do  I  live?  because  I  dare 
Make  my  days  but  a  living  prayer, 
That  I  shall  find  you  again,  somewhere. 

After  the  storms  that  around  us  sweep, 
After  the  toil,  and  the  tears  I  weep, 
Into  your  arms  I  shall  sometime  creep. 


POEMS   OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  21 

Hurt  by  the  waves  as  they  toss  and  swell, 
Tired  of  the  things  I  have  done  so  well, 
With  only  strength  at  the  last  to  tell 

How  I  have  loved  you,  throughout  all  time ; 
How  I  have  suffered,  and  made  no  sign, 
True  to  a  passion  sublime — divine. 

Husks  and  dregs  after  fruit  and  wine, 
Pearls  that  are  cast  to  the  hungry  swine, 
Such  is  your  life,  my  own — and  mine. 


fragment. 


HEART  has  grown  so  heavy  with  the 

burden  of  its  care, 
That  to  Sorrow's  gloomy  portal  I  have  fled  and 

left  no  trace; 
But  like  moths  from  out  the  darkness  to  the  light 

of  thy  loved  face, 
My  thoughts  go  fluttering  ever  from  the  night 

of  my  despair. 


22  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


TN  THE  haze  of  the  desolate  desert's  expanse, 

I  am  lost  in  a  dream  of  my  lover ; 
On  the  long  distant  lines  of  the  hills  bare  and 

brown 

The  flush  of  the  snnset  lies  over. 
The  genius  of  light  on  their  tops  whets  his  lance, 
And  strikes  at  them  over  and  over. 

I  watch  the  long  track  running  over  the  sand 
Where  the  swift-moving  cars  bore  him  over, 

Away  from  the  lovelight  which  shone  from   my 

eyes, 
The  light  that  has  shone  for  no  other. 

I  reach  out  my  arms  and  long  for  his  kiss, 
For  the  lips  and  the  eyes  of  my  lover. 

What    mattered   the   wide,    silent,    sand-drifted 
waste, 

Where  the  wind  was  a  merciless  rover; 
Over  yucca  and  cactus  and  bayonet-bush, 

Where  these  flourish  alone  and  no  other. 
The  desert  a  paradise  seemed  to  me  when 

I  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  my  lover. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  23 

I  never  again  will  wonder  at  fate; 

The  strife  of  my  life  is  all  over; 
The  hunger,  the  longing,  the  weary  nnrest, 

Like  a  child  on  the  breast  of  its  mother; 
Like  a  child  that  was  lost,  at  last  I  fonnd  peace 
On  the  passionate  heart  of  my  lover. 

He  will  not  forget  me.     I  read  in  his  eyes 
The  pain  that  none  else  might  discover, 

When  he  bid  me  good-bye  with  a  smile  on  his 

lips, 
That  the  trnth  might  be  known  to  no  other. 

And  the  desert  of  life  will  bloom  like  a  rose 
When  I  next  see  the  face  of  my  lover. 

Mohave  Desert,  1893. 


H ALLOW-E'EN. 


ERE  with  my  head  on  your  breast, 
•         Here  while  the  crickets  sing, 
Here  let  me  safely  rest, 

Dreaming  of  youth  and  spring. 


24  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

Kiss  from  my  face  the  care, 
Left  there  by  tears  and  pain, 

Till  the  brightness  it  used  to  wear, 
Shines  from  my  eyes  again. 

Much  have  I  missed  in  life — 

Much  has  my  heart  been  wrung, 

But  this  is  a  sweeter  hour, 
Than  poet  has  ever  sung. 

Your  face  is  like  heaven  to  me, 
I  read  in  your  tender  eyes, 

All  that  this  world  could  be, 
In  the  radiance  of  Paradise. 

The  daylight  has  darkened  long, 
While  safe  from  the  world  apart, 

I  hear  but  the  cricket's  song 

And  the  beating  of  your  dear  heart. 

O  hold  me  close !  in  the  gloom, 

Of  the  matchless  hour  when  we  meet, 

In  the  fragrant  dusk  of  the  room, 
To  die  in  your  arms  were  sweet. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  25 

Tired  of  the  world  and  its  ways — 
Tired  of  its  passion  and  strife, 

And  the  ceaseless  confusion  of  days 
Which  make  up  the  burden  of  life. 

1894. 


PART  SECOND. 

THE   LATER  POEMS. 


To  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  MOTHER. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  31 


71    WINSOME  maiden  planned  her  life— 
4)        How,  when  she  was  her  hero's  wife, 
He  should  be  royal  among  men, 
And  worthy  of  a  diadem. 
Through  all  the  devious  ways  of  earth 

She  sought  her  king ; 
The  snows  of  Winter  fell  before — 

She  walked  o'er  flowers  of  vanished  Spring 
Into  the  Summer's  fragrant  heat ; 
She  bent  her  quest,  with  rapid  feet, 
Then  saddened;  still  she  journeyed  down 
The  Autumn  hillsides,  bare  and  brown, 
Through  shadowy  eves  and  golden  morns  ; 
And  lo !  she  found  him — crowned  with  thorns. 


32  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


Curt. 


Q  OMETIMES  while  passing  through  a  wood 
land  scene, 
When  all  the  world   looks   fair   and  wondrous 

bright, 

Suddenly  breaks  a  hawk's  wild  cruel  scream, 
And  flies  a  bird,  pursued,  in  aimless  flight, 
Into  your  very  bosom,  fluttering  there, 
While  you  stroke  softly  all  its  plumage  torn 
By  beak  and  claw  of  that  fierce  thing  of  prey, 
Whose    murderous    chase   has    caused   its    an 
guished  fright. 

Bearing  it  home,  its  heart-tides  quiet  run, 

Fades  from  its  eyes  the  look  of  frightened  pain, 

Secure  it  preens  its  feathers  in  the  sun, 

And  seems  to  be  its  happy  self  again. 

Night  gently  conies,  and  underneath  its  wing, 

Its  head  is  folded  in  a  trusting  sleep, 

Upon  its  breast  there  is  no  stain  of  red, 

And  yet,  when  dark  has  worn  away  to  dawn, 

The  bird  lies  dead. 


av  THS      3*X 

POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  33 

So  I  have  come  to  you—  *N^ 

Deep  in  my  soul  an  unrelenting  hurt, 

On  your  fond  heart  lies  my  defenseless  head, 

In  your  dear  arms  I'll  shelter  find  awhile, 

But  fade  from  out  the  sunshine  of  your  smile, 

To  slip  away  among  the  silent  dead; 

But  yet  I  bless  you  for  this  love  which  bans 

And  would  detain  me  in  a  world  grown  sweet; 

The  healing  touch  of  your  beloved  hands, 

That  would  so  tenderly  and  deftly  save 

And  hold  me,  even  from  the  solemn  grave. 


34  POEMS   OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


of  Presibent  Cjarfielb 


A.  MONODY 
READ  IN  UKIAH,  CALIFORNIA,  MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER  26,  1881. 


(From  the  Ukiah  Dispatch  and  Democrat.) 

MRS.  ANNA  M.  REED  then  stepped  to  the  front  and  read  the  following 
eloquent  and  most  beautiful  monody  on  the  death  of  him  who  has  gone  from 
earth's  Iscenes  of  toil  and  trouble  to  the  realms  of  everlasting  life,  where 
"  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,"  and  the  <l  weary  be  at  rest  "  ;  there  where 
"  the  small  and  the  great  "  are  gathered.  The  reading  was  almost  faultless, 
and  the  impression  made  was  one  of  deep  solemnity.  The  sentiments  are  those 
of  a  truly  Christian  heart,  and  the  pathos  therein  contained  awakened  the 
tenderest  emotions. 


^UOLL    all   the  bells!    a    great   soul's   passed 

away 

From  clouds  and  shadows    to  the  perfect  day; 
The  wasted  garment  that  is  left  behind 
Must  be  to  ashes  and  to  dust  consigned. 
The  tears  of  suffering  death  has  wiped  away, 
But  who  shall  dry  the  eyes  of  those  who  stay  — 
The  aged  mother  and  the  faithful  wife  ? 
The  children  wailing  for  that  ended  life? 
The  nation  calling  for  the  leader  slain, 
Who  long  weeks  languished  on  his  bed  of  pain? 
Toll  all  the  bells,  beat  low  the  muffled  drum; 
In  long  procession  mourning  millions  come 
To  honor  him  who,  in  a  land  of  laws, 


POEMS   OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  35 

By  lawless  hand  has  died,  without  a  cause. 
Beside  the  ocean,  that,  with  measured  surge, 
Chanted  his  first  and  grandest  funeral  dirge — 
Sublimest  minstrel  at  the  feet  of  God; 
It  still  sang  on,  while  fell  the  mystic  rod 
And  moaned  a  requiem  for  the  parting  soul 
Soaring  beyond  this  little  world's  control. 
No  human  voice  may  sing  of  him  so  well, 
Nor  all  the  grandeur  of  his  history  tell ; 
But  to  his  memory,  out  of  many  lands, 
Will  struggling  genius  lift  aspiring  hands 
To  him  who  fortune's  darkest  frowns  withstood 
And  kept  his  every  aim  still  great  and  good — 
Who  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill  of  fame 
With  life  unblemished  and  unsullied  name — 
A  grand  rebuke  to  every  weaker  heart 
That  tempted,  turneth  from  the  better  part; 
Reproaching  those  who,  like  the  one  of  old, 
Their  birthright  for  a  "mess  of  pottage"  sold. 
His  mind,  untrammeled,  was  as  broad  as  earth ; 
His  heart  was  centered  at  his  family  hearth- 
He  made  his  home  a  type  of  all  things  seem 
Of  which  the  honest  Christian   soul  can  dream, 
Fit  emblem  of  that  home  in  fairer  lands 


36  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON    REED. 

Where  mansions  wait,  not  built  by  human  hands. 
The  annals  of  the  past  one  truth  repeat 
Of  those  whose  lives  with   greatness  were  re 
plete — 

This  fact  more  eloquent  than  all  beside, 
Whatever  their  history,  they  all  have  died. 
Sceptre  or  crown,  the  pride  of  place  or  power 
To  frail  mortality  loaned  but  for  an  hour, 
When  death  had  pointed  to  the  solemn  bier, 
They  learned  the  mockery  of  all  things  here ; 
Sowing  that  others  might  the  harvest  reap. 
Along  the  wayside  they  have  gone  to  sleep — 
Tired  of  the  treasures  that  the  years  may  rust, 
Tired  of  the  things  that  are  but  sordid  dust, 
Tired  of  the  gold  that  thieves  break  through  and 

steal, 

Tired  of  the  wrongs  successive  years  reveal — 
The  graves  of  such,  like  landmarks,  strew  the  sod, 
Pointing  submission  to  the  will  of  God. 

But  though  the  souls  of  men  like  him  we  mourn 
On  waves  of  mystery  are  beyond  us  borne — 
A  grateful  world  their  names  perpetuate, 
And  well  may  strive  their  deeds  to  emulate ; 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  37 

For  though  they  drift  beyond  the  tides  of  pain 
We. feel  indeed  they  have  not  lived  in  vain. 
A  proud  inheritance  has  this  one  left 

To  all  his  loved  ones  and  the  land  bereft — 

His  pure  example  may  the  world  defy — 

His  glorious  principles  can  never  die ; 

Nor  that  so  blessed  and  so  heaven-sent, 

On  which  its  authors  based  our  government, 

Where  earnest  manhood  by  its  simple  worth, 

Depends  not  on  the  accident  of  birth — 

By  honest  labor,  without  gold  to  buy, 

May  earn  and  reach  its  stations  proud  and  high. 

Oh  !  let  the  flags  droop  low— toll  all  the  bells ; 
We  lay  him  down  amid  our  last  farewells. 
Under  the  earth,  with  loving  tributes  dressed, 
Do  wre  resign  him  to  his  lasting  rest ; 
And  to  Columbia,  still  safe  and  free, 
We  trust  the  honor  of  his  memory ; 
As  turns  his  sacred  clay  to  kindred  sod, 
His  martyred  spirit  finds  repose  with  God. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


IN  THE  brush  fence  by  the  lane 

I  hear  the  stormbirds  crying, 
And  I  know  the  winter  rain 

Soon  will  beat  where  thou  art  lying ; 
For  the  wind  and  rain  are  near, 

When  the  stormbirds  are  a- cry  ing. 
A  brave  bright  winter  rose 

Taps  the  window  where  I'm  sitting  ; 
Its  heart  with  beauty  glows, 

While  the  autumn  hours  are  flitting ; 
It  taps  the  silent  pane 

Of  the  window  where  I'm  sitting. 
The  south  wind  kisses  light 

Its  petals,  curved  and  folded, 
Like  a  picture  warm  and  bright, 

Close  in  the  heart  enfolded — 
Like  a  dream  of  love  and  youth, 

In  the  heart  of  age  enfolded. 
And  it  speaks  to  me  of  thee, 

While  the  stormbirds  are  a-crying, 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON  REED.  39 

Though,  thy  face  I  cannot  see, 

Thy  memory  is  lying 
In  the  winter  of  my  heart, 

Best,  brightest,  and  undying. 
I  dream  of  thee  so  dear, 

Before  the  woodfire  glowing; 
I  hear  the  herd-bells  clear, 

And  the  cattle  softly  lowing ; 
The  sounds  foretell  the  rain, 

While  the  fire  is  brightly  glowing. 
In  thought  I  pass  the  lane 

Where  stormbirds  are  a-crying, 
As  to  some  sacred  fane, 

To  the  grave  where  thou  art  lying, 
Through  fragrant  pine-wood  aisles 

Where  the  sunset  glow  is  dying ; 
Where  one  can  not  hear  the  noise 

Of  a  footfall  on  the  mosses ; 
Where  the  pine  leaves  lightly  poise 

Like  a  pile  of  russet  flosses  ; 
Where  the  rabbit  or  the  squirrel, 

With  silent  footstep,  crosses ; 
Where  the  brake,  with  quiv'ring  fronds, 

Beside  the  gravestone  whispers 


40  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

The  earliest  matin  songs, 

And  at  eve  the  sadder  vespers, 
That  the  night  wind  softly  taught 

The  leaves  to  chant  in  whispers. 
There  so  quietly  you  sleep, 

While  the  restless  winds  are  sighing. 
In  the  grave  so  dark  and  deep, 

Nor  heed  the  stormbirds  crying, 
Nor  the  tears  that  fall  like  rain, 

And  my  heart  within  me  dying. 
The  rose  taps  on  the  pane, 

And  the  stormbirds  are  a-crying, 
And  I  soon  will  hear  the  rain 

Beat  through  the  wind's  low  sighing, 
While  rose  leaves  flutter  down 

On  the  grave  where  thou  art  lying. 


Christmas,  1890 


liJHEN,  neath  the  stars  of  Bethlehem, 

The  angels  sang:  "  Good  will  to  men," 
And  "  Peace  on  earth,"  a  promise  gave, 
Since  man  was  ransomed  from  the  grave, 
All  earth,  with  sweet  foreboding,  smiled, 
Because  was  born  a  homeless  child. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  41 

A  million  spires  point  to  the  sky 

Where  He,  transfigured,  took  His  flight, 
Toward  that  great  unsleeping  Eye, 

Watching  o'er  death,  and  sin,  and  night, 
For  eighteen  hundred  years  has  been 

His  triumph  most  devoutly  sung, 
O'er  death,  and  sin,  and  suffering, 

In  every  clime — in  every  tongue. 

Yet,  while  the  organ  grandly  swells 

Within  our  great  cathedral  walls T 
Chime  answering  chime  of  silvery  bells, 

Upon  the  air  of  Christmas  falls. 
Fair  women,  decked  in  silk  and  lace, 

Go  warm  and  blest  to  softly  pray, 
And  hasten  to  each  sacred  place 

That  gladly  welcomes  Christmas  day. 

Oh,  Prince  of  Peace,  who  lived  and  died ! 

Oh,  why  upon  this  holy  morn, 
When  sounds  and  scenes  of  reverence  tell 

This  was  the  day  that  Thou  wert  born, 
As  from  these  temples  of  our  pride 

The  happy  worshipers  have  filed, 
Why,  cold  and  hungry,  just  outside, 

Do  we  still  find  the  homeless  child  ? 


42  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


1789-1889. 


T\  CROSS  a  century  of  change 
fe        We  reach  our  hands  to  thee — 
Toward  one  bright  and  changeless  thing, 
Thy  honored  memory. 

Along  the  battlements  of  Time 

No  hero  lived  and  died 
Whose  name  in  song  and  deathless  rhyme 

Is  uttered  with  such  pride.    . 

It  stirs  the  hearts  of  free-born  men, 

And  whispers  to  the  slave 
The  truths  that  e'en  make  eloquent 

The  silence  of  thy  grave. 

No  stain  was  on  thy  grand  career, 

Of  lust,  or  pride  or  greed ; 
Thy  sword  was  never  bared  because 

Of  some  unhallowed  creed. 

O  Washington !  if  from  the  realms 

Of  perfect  love  and  light 
The  immortal  thought  of  one  like  thee 

May  earthward  take  its  flight, 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  43 

Look  down  upon  this  land  to-day — 

Across  from  sea  to  sea — 
Thy  great  soul  will  be  thrilled  to  know 

How  much  we  honor  thee. 

We  ask  in  thy  dear  name  to  be 

Made  faithful  to  our  trust, 
And  lay  our  wreaths  of  immortelles 
Upon  thy  sacred  dust. 


PE  DIED  in  Venice — citadel  of  songs, 
To  which  for  ages  all  romance  belongs; 
At  whose  proud  shrine  the  poet  and  the  sage 
Have  left  the  offering  of  every  age. 

He  died  in  Venice;  but  with  dreaming  eyes, 
By  the  Rialto  and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs; 
And  in  and  out  a  hundred  water-ways, 
For  years  he  glided  through  the  perfect  days. 


44  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON    REED. 

He  died  in  Venice;  but  through  all  he  dreamed 
The  golden  sunshine  of  Italia  streamed, 
Where  centered  all  those  memories  that  endure 
Around  the  home  of  Tasso  and  the  Moor. 

He  died  in  Venice,  but  his  work  was  done 
Long  years  before  his  sands  of  life  were  run — 
So  ideal  days  he  lived  that  did  beseem 
The  closing  visions  of  a  poet's  dream. 

He  died  in  Venice,  where  the  lapping  sea 

Kept  time  to  that  diviner  minstrelsy 

With  which  his  gifted  soul  through  time  was 

fraught 
To  live  eternal  in  the  world  of  thought. 

But  the  worn  garment  that  is  left  behind 
They  bear  away  to  rest  among  its  kind, 
In  that  far  land  where,  in  the  Abbey's  shade, 
Beside  congenial  dust,  it  will  be  laid. 

A  poet's  love,  a  poet's  life  and  death, 
Blest  from  the  earliest  to  his  latest  breath; 
But  of  all  things  that  could  his  age  befall, 
To  die  in  Venice  seems  the  best  of  all. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON  REED.  45 


P]OT  TIME,  that  sacred  heritage  to  all, 
'      For  in  the  cycles  that  have  passed  away 
I  cannot  count  me  one  lost,  idle  day, 
Nor  opportunity;  to  fate's  most  meager  gift, 
I  have  been  eager,  heart  and  hand  to  lift. 
What  waste  could  then  my  faithful  life  befall  ? 

A  cheek  whose  roses  bloomed  for  eyes  so  blind, 
They  did  not  see  they  were  the  rarest  kind ; 
Words  that  the  world  had  listened  for  for  years, 
Falling  unanswered  on  the  dullest  ears  ; 
A  heart  worn  out — as  fond  as  ever  beat, 
Its  wine  of  life  spilled  at  unworthy  feet; 
A  soul  so  tortured,  as  years  come  and  go, 
Its  wasted  treasure,  God  alone  can  know. 


46  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


Retrospect 


is  a  witching  mem'ry  my  heart  so  oft 

recalls — 

A  silver  cornet  ringing  above  the  palace  walls, 
Where  from  a  draperied  window  a  bright  young 

face  looked  down 
Upon  my  lady's   garden  that  graced  Yokaya's 

town. 

Where  passion   flower  and  jasmine  diffused   a 

fragrant  balm ; 
Where  shone  the  brilliant  salvia  and  whispered 

pine  and  palm ; 
The  willow  o'er  the  fountain,  with  fingers  long 

and  slim, 
Reached  to  the  sparkling  water  that  kissed  the 

fretted  brim, 
And  many  a  woodland  songster,  awearied  with 

the  heat, 
Bathed  in  the  cooling  crystal  and  sang  his  matin 

sweet. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  47 

O  days,  whose  dawn's  pink  splendor  waxed  to  a 
golden  noon  ! 

O  perfume,  song  and  blossom,  in  life's  impas 
sioned  rune ! 

O  south  wind,  blowing  gently  the  petals  at  my 
feet! 

O  twilight,  stealing  over!  O  kisses,  rare  and 
sweet ! 

O  little  maiden,  singing  beside  the  stately  hall! 

O  silver  cornet !  ringing  above  the  palace  wall ! 


fragment 


[IN   AN   ALBUM.] 


1    WILL  not  wish  you  gold,  or  love,  or  fame — 

Too  many  sins  committed  in  their  name, 
Sweep  through  the  ages,  and  with  dark  surprise 
Their  annals  blast  the  light  of  artless  eyes. 
Virtue  alone  can  bless  and  crown  your  youth, 
Therefore  I  consecrate  its  days  to  truth. 


48  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

"gertrube  cmb  ^fyeobore" 

A  LAY  OF  YE  MODERN  KNIGHT  AND  LADY  FAIR. 

UJITH  a  ring  of  hoofs  I  heard  them  pass, 

As  the  horses  spurned  the  brittle  grass ; 
A  youth  and  maid  of  our  modern  time, 
On  the  morning  side  of  life's  sweet  prime. 
Active  and  graceful,  and  fair  and  young 
As  any  that  poet  has  ever  sung ; 
No  knight  of  old,  with  spurs  bedight 
Could  be  to  me  a  braver  sight, 
E'en  though  he  went  with  plume  and  glove 
To  joust  for  the  sake  of  his  lady  love. 
And  she — what  maid  of  olden  time, 
Extolled  in  song  or  praised  in  rhyme, 
Compares  with  her,  whose  form  and  face 
Are  perfect  in  their  winsome  grace  ? 
They  rode  through  the  waning  Summer's  hours, 
Where  the  sunlight  sifted  in  golden  showers 
Through  the  woodland  aisles  in  a  solemn  hush, 
Through  the  firs  and  pine  and  hazel  brush, 
And  down  by  the  lessening  river's  brim 
Where  the  sedge,  with  fingers  long  and  slim, 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  49 

Reached  to  the  waters,  clear  and  cool, 

And  dabbled  in  each  shadowy  pool. 

Across  their  path  the  startled  deer 

Bounded  away  with  a  sudden  fear  ; 

The  grouse,  from  the  shade  of  the  deepest  wood, 

Drummed  and  called  to  their  mottled  brood. 

Again  and  again  was  softly  heard 

The  tender  fretting  of  some  bird 

That  o'er  her  nest,  in  a  shy  alarm, 

Hovered,  to  keep  her  young  from  harm  ; 

The  twittering  quail  to  cover  sped, 

The  silent  rabbit  as  quickly  fled. 

They  rode  away  through  the  pathways  dim 

To  the  redwood  forest's  farthest  rirn. 

While  the  sun  sank  down  in  the  Golden  West 

And  rested  awhile  on  the  ocean's  breast. 

Into  the  forest,  darkly  dim — 

I  dreamed  of  them — she  dreamed  of  him — 

And  he — not  on  the  tented  field, 

Where  there's  only  a  life  to  take  or  yield — 

Will  this  knight  of  mine  his  battle  wage; 

But  amidst  the  strife  of  this  wond'rous  age, 

Where  swords  are  rusting,  while  gallant  men 

Reach  nobler  vict'ries  by  tongue  or  pen, 


50  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

Where  the  proudest  destiny  ever  sought 

Is  to  rule  a  king  in  the  realm  of  thought. 

And  what  of  her? — O  God  above! 

Keep  her,  and  shield  and  crown  with  love; 

The  only  thing  of  this  world  a  part 

That  is  worth  the  price  of  a  woman's  heart. 

They  have  ridden  away  through  the  rosy  light, 

Ridden  away  from  sound  and  sight; 

Fairer  than  ever  was  writ  or  sung 

To  the  clang  of  hoofs  their  laughter  rung. 

Into  the  future  dim  and  unknown 

They  will  go  on — but  I  am  alone, 

Dreaming  of  them — from  the  world  apart — 

Their  laughter  echoes  against  my  heart. 


BETWEEN  the  roses  of  the  May 
\& 

Looks  out  the  radiant  face  of  June ; 

Blushing,  she  seems  afraid  to  cross 

The  threshold  of  the  Spring  so  soon ; 
While  my  heart  echoes,  beat  for  beat, 
The  tread  of  her  reluctant  feet. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  51 

Passionate  languor  in  her  eyes, 

The  kiss  of  Summer  on  her  mouth — 

I  love  her  harmony  of  birds — 

I  love  her  soft  winds  of  the  South — 

Her  cumulus  clouds  that  grandly  rise 

Across  the  sunlight  of  her  skies. 

A  lily  with  its  laughing  lips 

Greets  me,  and  now — a  star-like  shine 
Thrills  me  from  heart  to  finger-tips 

With  fragrance  of  the  jessamine; 
A  dove  her  gentle  note  prolongs, 
Answering  the  last  late  robin's  songs. 

As  here  I  fondly  weave  my  dreams, 

While  waiting — face  to  face  with  June — 

Of  you,  my  darling — beautiful 

As  bird  song,  blossom  and  perfume — 

Lulled  on  the  Summer's  slumberous  breast, 

I  dream,  and  know  that  I  am  blest. 


52  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON    REED. 


evening's  genius  with  his  sword  of  flame 
Guards  well  the  portal  of  the  dying  day ; 
His  lance  of  light  he  strikes  against  the  hills, 

v'f  . 

Breaks  on  sm4  glistening  peaks  its  glancing  ray ; 
He  marshalls  grandly  on  a  crimson  sea 
His  cloudship  navy's  golden  argosy, 
Whose  flaunting  banner  in  the  sunset  glow 
Bids  brave  defiance  to  the  dark'ning  foe  ; 
Who,  swift  advancing,  o'er  him  softly  flings 
The  purple  shadow  of  the  twilight's  wings, 
Till  war's  red    flush    before    the   night    wind's 

breath 

Fades  out  into  the  sullen  gray  of  death, 
And  star-eyed  night,  prevailing  all  too  soon, 
Hangs  out  the  silver  sickle  of  the  moon. 


POEMS   OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  53 


(Joob  fribay 


O-DAY  the  Saviour  died — suffered  the  Cruci 
fied, 

Yet  could  His  failing  eyes  see  the  repentant's 
tear, 

Saying :  "  In  Paradise  thou  shalt  with  Me  ap 
pear." 

a  Father,  forgive!"  He  prayed;  such  blessed 
words  He  said, 

"  They  know  not  what  they  do."  This  in  the 
face  of  death, 

This  for  His  enemies,  asked  with  His  latest 
breath. 

Yet  do  His  children  now  turn  from  His  face  and 
bow, 

Not  to  this  lowly  one;  down  to  strange  gods 
beside; 

And  in  their  lust  and  pride,  still  is  He  crucified. 

How  long  will  they  profane  His  pure  and  sacred 

name? 

Placing  His  holy  sign,  His  emblems  so  divine, 
In  midst  of  mockery,  on  each  unhallowed  shrine? 


54  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

"  I  thirst ! " — to  each  poor  heart,  struck  by  some 

poisoned  dart, 
Treading  the  narrow  way — ready  to  faint  and 

fall, 
To  the  parched  lips  that  cry,  earth    gives  her 

bitter  gall. 
Oh,  let  us  kneel  to-day !  kneel  in  the  dust  and 

pray, 
Close  to  His  bleeding  feet;    seeking  our  soul's 

relief, 
InJ^deep   repentant    grief — e'en  like  the  dying 

thief. 

Jesus,  the  u  Prince  of  Peace,"  when  shall  the 
striving  cease  ? 

Dark  roll  the  waves  of  death;  can  we  the  cur 
rent  stem  ? 

Seeing  at  last  Thy  face — touching  Thy  gar 
ment's  hem  ? 

Forgive  each  idle  word  Thy  outraged  ears  have 
heard, 

Each  sinful  act  forgive;  into  Thy  hands  receive 

At  death  our  sorrowing  souls,  that  they  may 
live. 

This  day  the  Saviour  died — suffered  the.  Cruci 
fied; 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON  REED. 


55 


Yet  He,  the  suppliant,  heard,  and  He  could  pity 
ing  see, 

Saying:  "  In  Paradise,  to-day,  thou  shalt  be 
with  Me." 


Pass  f^e? 


PERE,  to  and  fro— Time's  wearied  slave — 
I  come  and  go,  and  pass  her  grave; 
A  level  lane — three  roads  divide, 
Where  I  would  fain  oft  pause  beside, 
I  still  pass  by,  oil  either  side. 

God  help  me !     As  the  whip  of  care 
Still  urges  on  my  lagging  feet, 
No  time  to  pray,  no  time  to  greet, 

And  save  me  ere  I  quite  despair. 
Since  she  is  lying  with  the  dead, 
I  have  no  place  to  lay  my  head, 

And  weep  for  all  that  I  have  borne. 

I  pass  her  grave,  nor  pause  to  mourn; 
My  heart  alone  stays  with  the  dead. 


56  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


IN  MEMORY  or  LEON. 


"  There's  not  a  joy  the  world  can  give  like 
that  it  takes  away." 


the  yellow  Feather  River 
Rolled  its  tide  afar, 
With  its  fruit,  an  orange  laden, 
Grew  at  Bidwell's  Bar. 

There  a  little  maid,  one  morning, 

Looking  on  the  scene, 
Tree  and  flower  and  fruit  were  mingled 

In  a  summer  dream. 

Steep  the  graded  terrace  —  steeper 

Was  the  mountain  side, 
Where  the  scarlet  trumpet  creeper 

Trailed  above  the  tide. 

Not  more  scarlet  was  the  blossom 

Than  her  dainty  lips, 
Like  twin  rose  leaves,  curved  and  folded, 

With  exquisite  tips. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  57 

And  so  soft  and  brown  and  changing 

Were  her  tender  eyes, 
Like  a  pool  seen  late  in  summer 

Where  a  shadow  lies. 

In  her  hands  were  tiger  lilies, 

Gathered  ere  the  sun 
Had  the  time  to  kiss  each  chalice — 

Golden,  every  one. 

As  she  gazed  with  gentle  longing 

Through  the  lambent  air, 
A  boy  came  running  down  the  hillside, 

Crowned  with  tawny  hair. 

Blue  his  eyes — yes,  blue  as  heaven, 

And  his  form  and  face 
Promise  bore  of  manly  beauty, 

In  their  strength  and  grace. 

O'er  the  garden  wall  he  bounded, 

Plucking  fruit  and  flower, 
Tossed  them  to  the  little  maiden 

In  a  fragrant  shower. 


58  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

Blushing,  then,  she  thanked  him  sweetly, 

With  a  glad  surprise 
Dimpling  all  her  smiling  features, 

Shining  from  her  eyes. 
*         *         ***** 
As  she  bore  her  treasures  homeward 

Over  hill  and  stream, 
All  her  pure  young  soul  was  lifted 

In  a  sunny  dream. 

Through  the  future  rode  to  meet  her, 

On  a  steed  so  rare, 
A  blue-eyed  prince,  in  royal  velvet, 

With  long  golden  hair. 
x         *****          * 
And  so  shrined  in  her  fond  mem'ry, 

Lived  from  day  to  day, 
Crowned  with  curls  of  rippling  splendor, 

Her  own  prince  alway. 

On  life's  sea,  uneven,  drifting, 
Each  the  other's  face  did  see 

Seldom;  and  death's  fiat  falling, 
Parted  them  eternally. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  59 

Not  one  orange  tree,  but  thousands 

Grace  trie  plains  of  Butte, 
And  like  sands  upon  the  seashore 

Lies  their  golden  fruit. 

But  one  tree,  where  miners,  delving, 

Left  but  seam  and  scar, 
Crowning  all  the  desolation 

In  the  past  afar; 

With  its  fruit  and  creamy  blossoms, 

Each  a  separate  star, 
One  no  other  tree  can  rival 

Grows  at  Bidwell's  Bar. 

And,  alas !    Time  sees  the  passing 

Of  all,  good  and  fair — 
Cold  his  heart — low  in  the  grave  mold 

Lies  his  golden  hair. 


60  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


of 


WO  THE  Native  Sons  of  the  Golden  West, 
The  genius  of  this  bright  century  sings, 
In  a  land  where  the  kiss  of  the  sun  on  her  breast 
Gives  life  to  a  thousand  beautiful  things. 

Where  the  golden  orange  and  scarlet  fire 
Of  fragrant  pomegranate  blossoms  shine; 

Where  tropical  beauty  and  northern  balm 
Blend  in  the  shadows  of  palm  and  pine. 

To  the  Pioneer  and  the  Native  Son 

Give  honor,  O  Land  of  the  golden  West ! 

One's  work  is  over,  but  just  begun 

For  the  other — for  honor  and  fame  the  quest. 

To  the  Native  Sons  of  the  Golden  West 
The  Century's  Genius  prophetic  sings — 

Not  alone  of  the  past,  but  a  future  blest 

By  a  countless  treasure  of  beautiful  things. 

September  9tb,  1890. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  61 


**  o> 


hirst 


"  Darling,  you  may  always  know  that  I  am  as 
constant  as  the  sun." 


you  the  traveler  on  the  desert  waste, 
Dying  of  thirst,  would  still  refuse  to  taste 
When  loving  hands  too  gladly  offered  up 
To  the  parched  lips  the  overflowing  cup  ? 
This  have  I  done  ;  yet  with  beseeching  hands, 
Famished,  my  soul  cries  from  life's  desert  sands. 
As  to  the  mirage  returns  the  weary  eyes, 
Or  as  the  lost  look  back  to  Paradise, 
So  to  thy  image,  from  this  barren  way, 
My  tortured  spirit  turns  day  after  day. 
Ere  it  is  yielded,  duty-  worn  and  faint, 
Uttering  for  thee  its  hopeless,  last  complaint, 
Can  it  be  sin,  from  this  far  waste  of  pain, 
To  crave  some  token  of  thy  truth  again  ? 

1885 


62  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


of 


T  SAILED  beneath  a  burning  sun, 
By  coral  reefs  and  isles  of  balm, 
Where  orange  groves  and  silvery  palm 
By  faint  spice  winds  were  gently  fanned, 
Until  I  reached  a  tropic  land. 
And  with  three  thousand  miles  between 
The  shores  whereon  two  oceans  fret, 
I  bravely  said,  u  I  will  forget," 
And  there  beneath  the  Southern  Cross 
I  crept  out  in  the  breathless  night  ; 
My  heart  was  breaking,  and  the  stars 
Shone  dimly  on  my  fevered  sight  — 
Ah  !  vain  is  change  of  time  or  place  ; 
In  heaven  itself  I  see  —  thy  face  ! 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


71  ROUND  a  trackless  waste  of  sky 
©        A  dead  world  haunts  this  world  of  ours, 
Upon  whose  pulseless  breast  no  bird 
May  sing  in  joy  among  the  flowers — 
Whence  life  and  love  and  all  have  fled 
And  left  it  silent,  cold  and  dead. 
The  only  thing  that  still  seems  bright, 
The  blessed  sun's  reflected  light, 
The  tender  radiance  so  serene 
That  falls  in  moonlight's  silvery  sheen.     . 
As  on  my  heart  these  shadowy  thoughts 
Had  left  the  while  their  sombre  trace, 
A  shadow  from  the  weary  world 
Fell  over  Luna's  ghost-like  face. 


64  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


VOU  CANNOT  come  to  me, 
&       But  with  this  gift  that  God  has  given 
I  can  reach  out,  o'er  land  and  sea, 
O'er  barriers  of  earth  and  heaven, 
And  touch  your  heart  exquisitely. 
The  bird  caged  with  a  golden  wire 
Sings  not  always  for  those  who  feed, 
Supplying  every  grosser  need  ; 
Above  the  tumult  of  her  fate 
She  listens,  and  she  hears  her  mate ; 
She  dreams  a  dream  of  vanished  Springs, 
She  beats  her  wings,  and  sings,  and  sings — 
The  world  says,  u  Sweetly  sings" — but,  oh  ! 
You  hear  the  undertone  of  woe. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  65 


OFT  HAVE  I  smiled,  when  in  yonth's  halcyon 

time, 

I  heard  in  song,  or  read  in  deathless  rhyme, 
How    gallant   knights,   bedight   in    plnnie    and 

glove, 

Had  met  and  fought,  and  gladly  died  for  love. 
How  ladies,  too,  and  maidens  wondrons  fair, 
Had  wept,  and  pined,  and  died  in  love's  despair  ; 
How  Guinivere  her  crown  and  fame  forgot, 
And  sweet  Elaine  had  died  for  Launcelot  ; 
How  Cleopatra,  on  the  storied  Nile, 
Did  Antony  from  all  the  world  beguile  ; 
How  brave  Colonna  mourned  beside  the  sea 
Her  worshiped  lord,  till  death  had  set  her  free  ; 
How  Abelard  the  cloister  vainly  sought, 
And  saintly  Heloise  her  vows  forgot. 
Oft  then  I  smiled  ;  for  love,  in  that  bright  hour, 
Seemed  to  my  fancy  but  a  boasted  power  ; 
But  now  these  things,  prefiguring  my  fate, 

But  faintly  symbol  all  I  know  and  feel  ; 
This  ardent  passion,  time  cannot  abate, 

Since  on  my  soul,  love  set  his  magic  seal. 


66  POEMS   OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


to  Progress 


PRIZE  POEM 

Awarded  the  gold  medal  by  the  Agricultural  Association  of  I^ake  and  Mendo- 
cino  Counties,  1887. 


of  this  grand  century,  and  guardian 
of  the  free, 

Who  can  a  tribute  worthily  bring  from  our  hearts 
to  thee  ? 

When,  'neath  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  angels  sang 
that  blessed  morn, 

"  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  all  men,"  Prog 
ress,  thou  wert  also  born. 

The  ages  past  had  never  known  thee,  for  man. 
unjust  oppressed 

His  fellow  man ;  who,  suffering,  saw  might  as- 
right  confessed. 

Ask  Egypt's  hordes,  who  toiled  as  helpless  slaves 

To  build  her  kings  imperishable  graves ; 

Or  Grecian  art,  that  on  each  heathen  fane 

Left  us  the  dower  of  some  immortal  name ; 

Or  Rome's  imperial  grandeur  crumbling  down,. 

If  it  was  Progress  marked  their  great  renown. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  67 

No!  since  the  world  and  all  its  works  began, 
Have  Art  and  Science  been  the  slaves  of  man; 
Degraded  oft,  ignoble  scopes  to  fill, 
To  snit  the  vagaries  of  the  human  will. 
So  Freedom's  smile  o'er  Superstition's  horde 
Accomplished  more  than  power  of  fire  and  sword; 
While  Christian  liberty,  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Enlightens  all,  and  makes  the  poorest  free; 
And  things  that  were  but  dreams  to  Greece  and 

Rome, 

With  us  to  grand  realities  have  grown. 
A  homeless  child  so  touched  the  human  soul, 
He  made  the  world  akin — one  wondrous  whole. 
His  story  echoes  down  the  aisles  of  time, 
In  every  language  told  by  tongues  sublime; 
Nor  will  it  cease  till  every  land  has  heard 
The  precious  promise  of  His  sacred  word, 
That  truth  and  justice  shall  prevail  alone — 
Where   ihey   are   not,    Progress,    thou    art   not 

known. 


<38  POEMS   OF  ANNA  MORRISON    REED. 


B  ARE  so  far  apart — even  from  ocean  to 

ocean — 
As  a  nun  would  tell  her  beads,  only  with  more 

devotion, 

Counting  the  days  when  we  met, 
As  the  chain  slips  over  my  fingers, 
Over  each  thought  of  you  my  heart  caressingly 

lingers. 

The  long,  bright  lance  of  the  sun, 
Reaching  away  from  the  sunset, 
Touches  my  hair  and  eyes, 
And  the  lips  you  kissed,  when  you  told  me, 
Constant  you'd  always  be  while  the  sun  in  his 

shining  should  hold  me. 
The  heart  and  the  lips  you  love,  grow  warm  his 

red  rays  under. 
Constant  I  know  you  are,  though  we  are  so  far 

asunder. 

God  bless  and  keep  you  so   on  the  shore  of  an 
other  ocean — 
As  a  nun  her  beads,  the  hours  I  tell,  only  with 

more  devotion. 


POEMS   OF  ANNA   MORRISON   REED. 


A    SATIRE 

Suggested  by  seeing  the  above  notice  at  the  entrance  to  one  of  our 
fashionable  theatres. 


T  T  7HILE  Fashion  trips  within  the  door 

That  Thespis  opens  wide  before  her, 
Pleasure  and  Vice,  and  many  more, 

Beside  their  goddess  qnickly  enter, 
Folly  comes  in,  and  Crime,  her  brother — 

All  children  of  the  same  vile  mother; 
The  courtesan,  with  painted  charms — 
But  listen,  not  "the  babe  in  arms." 

For  Innocence  there  is  no  place 

In  all  this  grand  and  brilliant  throng; 
'Tis  well,  for  on  its  modest  face 

Blushes  must  burn  for  scene  and  song; 
Or,  if  unconscious,  still  its  cries 
Might  through  the  tearful  silence  steal, 
Marring  the  sense  of  ears  and  eyes 
That  drink  the  rantings  of  Camille. 


70  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

Camille,  sin-stamped,  her  life  of  crime 

Can  never  touch  an  honest  heart, 
E'en  painted  by  the  fingers  fine 

Of  sentiment  and  finished  art, 
Forgive  all  like  her,  and  wish  them  good, 
But  ask  not  trne,  pure  womanhood 
To  shed  the  sympathetic  tear 

Over  her  guilty,  weak  career. 
****** 

Over  the  rich  man's  palace  gate 

Those  words  might  well  be  placed  quite  often, 
When  nothing  can  his  craving  sate, 

His  greed  for  power,  and  pride  of  station. 
Some  prince  of  style,  with  endless  means, 

Whose  social  traits — a  strange  transition 
From  when  he  lived  on  u  pork  and  beans  " — 

Now  swell  with  limitless  ambition. 

His  wife,  in  fashion's  trappings  decked, 
Now  leads  a  band  of  kindred  spirits, 

Of  whom  she  is  the  "  great  elect," 
To  "kettledrums"  and  other  places; 

Forgetting  how,  in  earlier  times, 

She  once  scoured  kettles  in  the  mines 

Before  she  hoisted  o'er  her  charms 

The  motto  of  "  No  babes  in  arms." 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON  REED.  7] 

Her  fragile  health,  admits  no  more 

The  cares  that  earnest  woman  busy ; 
Though  grand  receptions  by  the  score 
Cannot  fatigue,  nor  dancing  weary. 
"  A  babe  so  breaks  a  mother's  rest !  " 
As  all  her  thousand  friends  attest, 
While  gossiping  their  usual  way 
Of  husbands  who  are  apt  to  stray, 

And  have  a  liking"  for  their  club, 

Where  everybody  smokes  and  swaggers, 

While  telling  cronies  where's  the  rub 
In  politics  and  other  matters. 

A  bad  state  of  affairs  at  best, 

For  husbands,  wives,  and  all  the  rest. 

No  sleep  at  Nature's  fittest  time — 
The  night  filled  with  unholy  revels. 

What  wonder  that  their  faces  wear 
Too  oft  the  look  of  heartless  devils  ? 

And  men  who  could  have  loved,  at  rest, 

A  baby  on  a  mother's  breast — 

To  view  with  interest  are  agog 

A  "thing"  that  pets  a  poodle-dog. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

The  eyes  of  faith  have  looked  beyond 

This  life,  that  even  at  its  best 
Is  filled  with  care  and  pain  nntold — 

Its  trinniphs  filled  with  strange  unrest, 
And  pictured  an  existence  grand 
And  glorious  in  an  unknown  land, 
Where  all  that  pure  in  heart  have  been 
As  little  children  enter  in. 

While  over  all  the  hopeless  dead, 

Entering  at  last  the  gates  of  doom, 
That  sentence  unrevoked  and  dread, 

God's  fiat  traces  in  the  gloom, 
To  meet  and  blast  despairing  eyes 
That  turn  away  from  Paradise 
And  read  above  Hell's  wild  alarms : 
"  There  enter  here  no  babes  in  arms." 


~  - 

>   Of  TH1 

POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  73 


of  California 


7y\  ECCA  of  my  lost  youth, 
(®         Between  thy  shrine  and  my  sad  heart, 
The  years  with  pallid  faces  stand 
And  hold  us  far  apart. 

I  reached  aspiring  hands 

Hung'ring  toward  thy  "mount  of  light"; 
God  filled  them,  measuring  not  my  plans  — 

He  doeth  all  things  right. 

His  tasks  appointed  well, 

To  idle  heart-break  not  allied, 
Gave  nature  as  my  "Alma  Mater  " 

And  duty  for  my  guide. 

But  echoes  of  thy  fame 

Waft  by  on  wings  of  memory, 
And  day  by  day  my  constant  thoughts 

Like  pilgrims  go  to  thee. 


74  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


of  (jeneral  grant 


A    MONODY' 

Read  by  the  Author  at  the  Memorial  Exercises  at 
Ukiah,  Mendocino  County,  California,  August  8, 
1885. 

ULJHO    HAS   not   stood   within   the   chilling 

gloom 

Where  some  bright  pathway  ended  in  the  tomb, 
And  from  its  portal  could  no  longer  trace 
A  future  —  blank,  for  want  of  one  loved  face  ? 
Then,  dazed  and  broken,  blindly  faltering  back, 
Resumed  the  round  of  life's  repellent  track? 
What  family  circle  has  not  broken  been 
By  this  decree,  provoked  by  man's  first  sin? 
This  awful  mystery;  whose  fingers  cold 
Can  touch  impartially  the  young  or  old, 
Point  out  the  fairest  for  the  fatal  dart, 
And  still  the  beating  of  the  noblest  heart. 
No  pride  of  station  and  no  boast  of  power 
Prolongs  a  life  for  even  one  short  hour. 
The  cottager  or  claimant  of  a  throne, 
On  God's  great  mercy  both  depend  alone; 
No  other  power,  at  last,  endures  to  save, 
And  all  distinctions  level  in  the  grave. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  75 

Toil's  implement — the  monarch's  royal  crown, 
At  that  dark  threshold  are  alike  laid  down. 
We  come  as  beggars  from  the  Master's  hand, 
And  at  life's  close,  we  still  as  suppliant's  stand — 
Oh !  may  His  mercy,  like  a  mantle,  fall 
At  that  dread  hour,  in  charity,  on  all. 
What,  though  our  burdens  be  of  pain  and  care, 
So  great  they  seem,  more   than  the  heart  can 

bear; 

Be  patient  still,  we  all  will  lay  them  soon 
Down  by  the  portals  of  the  quiet  tomb; 
And  in  the  silence  of  that  awful  shade, 
How  many  a  fault  to  nothingness  will  fade ! 
The  hoarded  treasures  of  the  countless  years 
Have  been  resigned  before  that  shrine  of  tears. 
For  there,  each  heart  has  said  a  last  u  good-bye/' 
And  broken  there  is  every  earthly  tie — 
And  when  we  hold  the  wreaths    that    triumph 

gave, 
We  all  turn  back  to  lay  them  on  some  grave. 

^yi****** 
What  meed  of  praise — what  tribute  shall  we  pay 
To  him  the  nation  meets  to  mourn  to-day  ? 
Who  danger's  gauntlet  oft  in  safety  ran; 


76  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

Who  lived  a  hero,  but  to  die  a  man. 

He  was  but  human — but  his  faults  were  few; 

His  life  was  honest,  and  his  purpose  true. 

.Blame  not  that  noble  one,  that  fortune  led 

His  feet  where  war  had  made  the  pathway  red — 

His  country  called;  he  did  her  grief  assuage, 

And  saved  America  her  heritage. 

Where   w^rong  has    been,  alone,  God   knoweth 

best, 

And  there  alone  His  punishment  will  rest. 
But  no  just  thought  confuses  now  with  him 
That  awful  scourging  of  a  people's  sin. 
Over  his  coffin,  sorrowing  to-day, 
Bow'd  are  the  vet'rans  of  the  blue  and  gray. 
Over  his  grave,  unworthy  strife  will  cease, 
And   North  and  South  clasp  hands  in  lasting 

peace. 

The  flag,  whose  honor  he-  has  saved,  hangs  low; 
And  all  the  land  is  draped  in  signs  of  woe; 
And  many  a  cheek  with  honest  tears  is  wet, 
Now,  that  at  last  his  star  of  life  is  set. 
But  though  the  flowers  we  bring  be  doomed  to 

fade, 
And  loving  hands  that  weave  them  shall  be  laid 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  77 

To  moulder  back  into  the  common  clay, 
Forgotten — like  the  tributes  of  this  day — 
He  leaves  one  thing,  that  will  not  be  forgot, 
To  live  immortal  in  the  people's  thought. 
When  liberty,  enlightening  the  world, 
All  false  usurpers  from  their  thrones  has  hurled ; 
When  creeds  no  more  perplex  fanatic  fools, 
Who  live  by  rote,  and  worship  God  by  rules ; 
When  parties  die — and  prejudice  is  dead — 
And  ignorance — and  in  their  narrow  stead, 
A  people  live,  by  truth  and  reason  led — 
A  Christian  people  o'er  the  whole  earth  spread — 
Then  will  the  greatness  of  this  man  be  known; 
Though  back  to  dust  the  monumental  stone 
Has  crumbled,  his  memory  will  shine 
Throughout  the  ages  of  all  coming  time. 
So  fear  not  now,  within  the  Nation's  sight, 
This  glorious  epitaph  of  him  to  write : 
He  leaves,  emblazoned  on  the  scroll  of  fame, 
The  matchless  splendor  of  a  deathless  name. 


78  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


T  DO  begrudge  to  Time  this  lip's  fond  red, 

This   heart's  warm  pulse,  which  beat  with 

hope  and  truth 
Through  all  the  years,  while  lingered  yet  my 

youth, 

By  love's  assurance  most  divinely  fed. 
Into  the  face  of  pain  I  bravely  looked, 
Nor  shrank  before  the  horrid  face  of  death. 
While  I  could  hope  to  meet  thy  constant  eyes, 
For  me  life's  desert  seemed  a  paradise. 
But  O  my  darling !  I  am  sad  to-night ; 
Upon  the  edge  of  duty  and  of  care 
The  finer  fabrics  of  my  life  are  worn ; 
My  ardent  being  feels  a  strange  despair — 
That  time  prevails;  and  e'en  for  thy  dear  sake, 
The  heart  that  was  so  brave  will  surely  break. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  79 


Q  Cf?QT>minS  Portrait  of  a 


I<ines  dedicated  to  the  hard-working  and  poorly-paid  artists  of  California. 


N\  Y  PRETTY  little  Gypsy,  you've  caused  me 

(§>  bitter  woe ; 

But  how,  my  little  Gypsy,  no  man  snail  ever 

know. 
For  I  shall  never  tell  it,  and  you   will   never 

speak, 
And  so,  between  the  two  of  us,  the  secret  we 

will  keep. 

Your  eyes  are  dark  and  solemn,  beneath  each 

raven  tress, 
As  though  you  sought  to  question  the  cause  of 

my  distress ; 
And  so,  although  you've  brought  me  a  grief  I 

shall  not  name, 
I  like  to  sit  and  watch  you,  and  I  love  you  all 

the  same. 

You  have  never  told  my  fortune,  but  you  com 
fort  and  you  bless, 

For  your  eyes,  with  tender  glances,  are  like  a 
mute  caress, 


80  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 

As  with  fawn-like  grace  and  freedom  you  stand 
and  look  at  me, 

Your  lovely  arm  entwining  the  sturdy  green 
wood  tree. 

And  I  thank  a  kindly  Providence  that  in  this 

age  of  greed, 
When   every  selfish  worldling  makes  gain  his 

only  creed, 
There  are  a  few  brave  spirits  who,  in  the  sordid 

strife, 
Catch  and  hold,  with  pen  or  pencil,  the  lovelier 

things  of  life. 

A  bit  of  charming  landscape,  an  eye  alight  with 
love — 

A  thought  that  inspiration  has  sought  and  found, 

above 
The  plane,  where  many  thousands  toil  and  strive 

till  life  has  flown, 
To  build  up  for  the  thankless,  their  piles  of  brick 

and  stone. 

The  hand  whose  cunning  caught  you,  from  fancy 

or  from  fact, 
Whose  brush  on  canvas  fixed  you,  with  genius 

and  with  tact, 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON  REED.  81 

My  gratitude  shall  follow  along  Time's  check 
ered  flight, 

For  to  me  my  little  Gypsy  will  bring  life -long 
delight. 


(jlabbest 


CTZHE  GLADDEST  heart  in  all  the  world  is 

1       mine — 

And  yet,  like  showers  that  fall  aslant  the  shine 
Of  April  suns,  and,  in  a  tearful  way, 
Deny  the  radiant  splendor  of  the  day, 
This  sobbing  breath — these  tears  upon  my  cheek, 
Give  sad  denial  to  the  words  I  speak. 
For  in  the  years  betwixt  this  and  the  grave, 
And  that  long  rest  its  solemn  silence  brings, 
While  shines  for  us  the  blest  and  constant  sun, 
Through   Autumn's    sere    and    flower-encircled 

Springs, 

There  waits  no  day  that  we  may  call  our  own 
Upon  this  sin-cursed  earth — the  slave  of  time — 
When  I  may  answer  you  and  tell  you  why 
The  gladdest  heart  in  all  the  world  is  mine. 


82  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED. 


TN  THE  moonlight,  o'er  the  sidewalk,  long  the 
shadows  fall, 

And  trace  so  restlessly  their  shape  upon  the  con 
vent  wall; 

While  my  heart,  with  all  its  longing  to  that  city 
far  and  dim, 

Turns  to-night,  despite  of  distance — is  again 
with  him. 

And  upon  his  face  I  see  the  shadow  of  the  years, 
As  he  might,  upon  my  own,  read  the  traces  of 

my  tears — 
And  still  nearer  than  the  nearest  I  am  with  him 

in  my  thought; 
Does    my   spirit   seek   his   presence,  wild  with 

yearning,  thus  unsought  ? 

No;  and  so  it  reaches,  in  the  night  so  sweet  and 

still, 
Over  rock  and  plain  and   meadow,  o'er  valleyr 

land  and  hill, 
Over  all  the  years  of  hunger,  for  the  blessing  of 

his  smile. 
And   unspeaking  lingers  near  his  side  a  little 

while. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON   REED.  83 

Once,  the  tide  of  life  all  thrilling,  in  a  Summer's 
night, 

Clasped  a  moment  in  his  arms,  I  touched  the 
borders  of  delight; 

But  I  turned,  my  being  shaken,  and  with  falter 
ing,  aimless  feet,  » 

Fled  for  years  the  love  forbidden,  still  so  strangely 
sweet. 

And  those  waves  of  feeling,  breaking  through 

the  cruel  years, 
Leave  my  heart  a  hopeless  wreck,  beneath  the 

current  of  my  tears ; 
Yet  it  turns  with  all  its  yearning  to  that  city 

far  and  dim, 
And  to-night,  all  else  forgetting,  is  again  with 

him. 


84  POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON    REED. 


this  strange  garment  that  my   soul 
has  worn 

Has  burned  away  beneath  the  fitful  flashes 
Of  that  wild  fever  that  no  cure  has  known, 
Until  the  heart  consumes  to  coldest  ashes 
"  Life's  fitful  fever,"  burning  with  such  loss 
Of    thought   and   feeling  —  earth's    diviner 

treasure, 

So  many  precious  things  among  the  dross, 
Their  value  would  a  life-time  take  to  measure. 

When  "  dust  to  dust "  a  strange  voice  softly  says, 

And  sadly  drop  the  valley  clods  above  me, 
While  telling  o'er  the  events  of  my  days, 

Amid  the  tears  of  those  who  think  they  love 

me ; 
If  they  could  know  the  seeming  endless  pain 

That  I  had  passed  beyond — and  died, 
They  would  not,  surely,  wish  me  back  again, 

Where  all  that's  Christ-like  still  is  crucified. 


POEMS  OF  ANNA  MORRISON  REED.  85 

That  priceless  debt  the  world  cannot  repay — 

A  child's  lost  faith  in  all  its  vain  assurance, 
The  hope  that  turns  toward  a  brighter  day, 

Through   months    of  toil,  and  patience,  and 

endurance. 

This   is   the    sum,    too   oft,  through    changing 
years, 

Of  sacrifice  no  words  may  fitly  tell ; 
And  so,  despite  the  most  regretful  tears, 

We  sleep,  "after  life's  fitful  fever,"  well. 

I  have  so  suffered — thus  a  glad  relief 

Seems  possible ;  and  now,  as  time  is  fleeting, 
I  look  where  death  stands,  just  beyond  my  grief, 

And   know   that   there   no   pulse  of  pain  is 

beating; 
Where  sin,  ingratitude,  and  pride  and  lust, 

That   have    so    marred   the   frail  thing  I  am 

wearing, 
Lying  beside  that  poor  handful  of  dust, 

Are  left  at  last,  while  I  go  on  uncaring. 


We  offer  special  facilities  to  authors  desirous 
of  publishing  books*  Our  establishment  is  the 
largest  on  the  Coast,  and  work  is  done  complete 
under  one  roof,  We  submit  estimates, 

A: 

THE  HICKSxJUDD  CO, 

Printers 

Publishers 

Bookbinders 

23  First  Street,  San  Francisco,  CaL 


or  TOT 


UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 

Due  two  weeks  after  date, 
001 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


